


i won't share your anger

by bakamaze



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: Angst, Complicated Relationships, Gen, Siblings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-15
Updated: 2014-12-15
Packaged: 2018-03-01 14:25:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2776340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bakamaze/pseuds/bakamaze
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <cite>there must be a way to understand the things you do</cite>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>carver reunites with his brother in the deep roads. it goes about as well as he expected.</p>
            </blockquote>





	i won't share your anger

**Author's Note:**

> i had some unexpected feels about brothers hawke when inquisition came out and then this was the result. 
> 
> takes place in act 3 during the quest finding nathaniel and doesn't quite follow the canon in the order things happen. the dialogue between carver and hawke (and nathaniel) is taken straight from the game as played with a sarcastic hawke and full rivalry with carver.
> 
> title and quote in summary taken from [brother song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=S4jJyW0Bb6k) by circa survive

Carver hoped he wasn't the only one who survived.

He struck down another hurlock, slashing with his sword. There were so many left. He wouldn't get through them all.

So hope was the only thing he had left, apparently. His hope and greatsword.

He sucked in breaths, lungs burning, but refusing to give in to exhaustion. Widen your stance, fix your balance, and go in again. Remember your training.

 

Maker, he couldn't be the only one. Warden Koren, Warden Luthien, Thomas, Warden Hannoc, Ser Fenley, Temmerin. Warden Howe. Most of them had been Wardens longer than him, a few darkspawn between them and him wouldn't keep them.

His steps almost faltered when his heart seized in his chest, _what if they weren't coming?_

Carver's next blow with the sword was accompanied by an angry shout.

Adrenaline seemed like the only thing keeping him going. Lunge, swipe, dodge, repeat. He could see Bethany in his mind, when he was still scrawny and made out of awkward too-long limbs, lounging against the barn wall while he did drills with his practice sword, hands shaking and sweat dripping into his eyes, a pretty smirk on her lips and hair pulled up out of her face, ”getting tired, brother?”

He missed her so much.

He wanted to laugh and cry at the same time, he wanted to give up, and that was what made him fight harder. He would never take the easy way out. He had sworn to fight until his last breath and that was what he was going to do.

A couple of the darkspawn had gotten through his armor, and the wounds, while not fatal, burned every time he moved. It was making offensive tactics more difficult than he would've liked and staying on the defensive would strip him of any advantage he might have.

 

There was a feeling, right then, something that reminded him of a breeze on a too hot summer day, of home, of father. He sensed it climbing around his arms and clinging to his skin, blanketing him, _safe._

And then the darkspawn surrounding him were lifted into the air, their horrid faces twisting when they slammed back onto the ground with a force that shattered their bones.

He looked away from his fallen foes and his eyes immediately found the face of his brother, his gaze serious for once, dark and angry and scared.

The hand not holding his staff was still in a fist. There were still darkspawn coming. He barely had time to register the other people with Tristan before Warden Howe was giving him orders and the fight was on once more.

He hadn't known how much his brother's presence grounded him in battle before this moment. The way he would instinctively try to stagger enemies if he couldn't kill them in the first few blows to leave them vulnerable to Tristan, the way any enemy that was not focused on him was the greatest threat.

The way he could feel the exhaustion and pain receding and knowing if he looked back, he'd see Tristan surrounded by soft blue light.

 

The battle was considerably more easy after that. At least until the ogre showed up and a cold, hard fear took root right beneath his rib cage, an icy feeling spreading through his body. The memory of a giant hand reaching down and ripping his twin away from him forever, her flames and robes giving no protection.

An image in his mind of Tristan being tossed aside like a rag doll, blood seeping through his clothes, body empty of anything that might have inhabited it once.

That fear almost paralyzed him. Carver cried out and the beast turned to him, huge mouth agape and sharp teeth dripping and he was certain he had never felt such fury.

The ogre was already full of arrows from both Warden Howe and Varric when he charged forward. He managed to duck out of the way of a swiping attack just as the giant darkspawn started cowering and when he brought his sword down on its flesh again, it didn't flinch or fight back.

Isabela was taking advantage of the stun to work almost literal magic with her daggers and it wasn't long until their combined efforts took the ogre down.

 

He lowered his guard and let his other hand drop from the hilt of his sword, breathing hard. He stared at the enormous corpse, some remnants of the fear still swirling in his gut, watching for any sign of life.

He was vaguely aware of Isabela passing him with a touch on his arm, returning to his brother's side, a quiet and concerned ”are you alright?” carrying to his ears.

Carver tore his eyes away from the ogre's corpse and turned around. His brother looked terrified, his hands trembling. He got the impression that Isabela's presence was the only thing that kept him from breaking apart at the seams. He almost called out for Anders to check on Tristan before he remembered what his father had taught them about magic when Bethany had tried to find a School that fit her.

He had had an almost sorry look in his eyes when he had asked their brother to talk about the School of Entropy. The expression on Tristan's face when he was describing how to cast the spell Horror. How you took your own fears and projected them onto someone else.

How much fear it must've taken to stop an ogre in its tracks.

When Tristan looked up to see him watching, it was like a wall had slammed down between them.

Gone was the true Tristan, the one he remembered from when he was little and in his place was the one who wore masks like second skin, a different person with everyone he met, a hollow smile and a laugh. The Tristan that had emerged from their father's ashes. The Tristan he hated.

 

”Carver?”

”What are you doing here?” he all but snarled, fear twisting into anger. ”Just like always, no cause is too small for you to stick your nose in. I have this under control.”

Nothing. No reaction at all. It made him want to shake Tristan until his teeth rattled.

”You two know each other?” Warden Howe's voice cut in, tight, obviously ready to step in at a second's notice if it got violent. Carver let some of the hostility drain from him, if only to put the senior Warden more at ease.

”He is my brother.”

Just saying the words made him angry again, made him want to scream and stomp and yell; this is not my brother!

”You know, the average person saves a life, they might expect some gratitude,” Tristan smiled, and it rankled as always. Carver took a steadying breath.

”I've seen too much of the world to be impressed by this,” the _by you_ went unsaid, but not unheard. The _you don't need to impress me_ , however, went both unsaid and unheard.

Tristan tilted his head, ”It's just kind of sad.”

Knowing he would regret it, Carver asked anyway, ”what is?”

”That your world has remained so small.”

At least the steps to this dance were familiar.

What about your world, he wanted to ask. What about your world, where you let no one in, you let no one close, your world where it's just you and your hurt and your fear.

Carver said none of this aloud.


End file.
